What It Is (posts below left; rate sheet, client list, other stuff below right)

My name is Bob Land. I am a full-time freelance editor and proofreader, and occasional indexer. This blog is my website.

You'll find my rate sheet and client list here, as well as musings on the life of a freelancer; editing, proofreading, and indexing concerns and issues; my ongoing battles with books and production; and the occasional personal revelation.

Feel free to contact me directly with additional questions: landondemand@gmail.com.

Thanks for visiting. Leave me a comment. Come back often.

Wednesday, November 7, 2018

I Might Have Had It

Other than sending a few neat clients my way over the years, "free" music, and an easy way to check references and facts, the Internet is holding little interest for me. No website seems alluring. I have about half a dozen sites bookmarked, and all I have the stomach for is the weather and email, and sometimes even the latter is iffy.

Two solutions: about:blank and basset hound pictures. But the less time I spend looking at any screen, the better.

Don't want no news, no sports, no entertainment, no input. I'm ready to start living closer to my license plate: MONKISH. All the information I need, I'm paid to read. Maybe I'll learn about what I'm about to live through in some retrospective written nine months from now.

Might be that more of my time is spent here, posting rants about any damn thing. I'm at the point of my career, if that's what you can call this form of wage slavery, that my opinion couldn't matter much to any potential clients. To hell with it.


I finished an index today I never should have accepted and "celebrated" by getting my increasingly scrawny white ass out of the house to Sam's Club and Walmart. It's Bristol, baby. That's how we roll.

Sam's Club: I'm pondering what huge blocks of cheese to buy, having bypassed a four-pound container of instant hot chocolate, my drink of choice these mornings. I see a woman speaking into a device on her wrist. At the time, I happened to be speaking with my wife, and I said, "Some woman is talking into a wrist phone. It's fncking Dick Tracy. I never thought I'd live this long."

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